Show me the playbook
by killians-dimples
Summary: Henry plays matchmaker for his mom and his high school football coach Killian Jones. Collection of drabbles, not a full-fledged story.
1. Chapter 1

**hail mary. **

"Your coach told you _what_?"

Henry is busy stuffing his face full of pasta as only a pre-teen hitting his hormonal glory days can, tomato sauce splattering the front of his jersey. She sighs and tries to remember where she put the stain sticker detergent (if she even bought it at all) and mentally calculates the time it will take to get this jersey clean before the next game.

"He said I have natural talent on defense." He's practically bouncing in his seat in excitement, and it's the first time since he started playing this stupid sport that he's shown more than a glimmer of real engagement.

(He started because of Neal - because of his father's insistence to ditch the books and be a_real man_. Henry was so desperate for his father's approval that he had come home that night, begging her to let him play, and _god dammit_ - she couldn't resist those big brown eyes.)

"Defense? Really?"

Henry frowns and his shoulder's drop and she immediately hates herself. She sighs and pops a bit of spinach in her mouth, tilting her head to the side and pressing his pasta bowl closer with her pinky.

"I just meant I can't see you as a lineman." He pokes and prods at his dinner. "Safety, though? Absolutely."

He grins and she smiles in response, the warmth that accompanies each increasingly rare moment of affection from her son anchoring in her chest. The conversation moves to weekend plans and the girl Lily she's caught him texting on and off and she decides to let him run off to his room when his skin turns so red it looks like he's about to burst in flames.

(It take four washes to get the pasta sauce out, but she smiles the whole time, running her thumb over the _SWAN _stitched across the back and thinking of the little boy who used to climb into her bed at 7am with his book of fairytales - nestled safe in her arms.)

-/-

She's going to kill Neal.

Murder him on the spot, actually.

She takes the turn into the school parking lot at an alarming speed, narrowly missing the curb and jerking to a stop. The two silhouettes at the picnic table closest to the school straighten up at her dramatic entrance, and she's already halfway across the asphalt when they rise to greet her.

"Henry, I'm so sorry. I didn't have my phone and - "

"It's cool, Mom." Henry waves his hand in dismissal and she abruptly shuts her mouth. It isn't like Henry to take his father's shortcomings in such stride. This isn't the first time Neal has forgotten to pick him up from practice, but it is definitely the first time Henry hasn't been in pieces by the time she finally got there.

(Sometimes she wishes they never came back to New York, that they just stayed in Boston and Neal never had the opportunity to find them. But karma is a bitch, and she would have had to pay up in some way, some time.)

"Killian hung out with me." She ruffles his hair with a relieved sigh, turning her attention to the man hanging back by his side, hands deep in his pockets. She gives him a tight grin as she pulls Henry closer, taking in the stubble that covers his cheeks, the lean lines of his body. She doesn't know what she was expecting when Henry described his football coach, but it certainly wasn't _this_.

(Blue, blue, _blue_ eyes and a soft smile that crinkles his eyes - holy _shit_.)

"Thank you." She manages in a breathy voice (_god_)_ and_ Henry's eyes narrow in consideration. She rolls her own in response because sometimes the kid is too damn astute for his own good. She coughs to clear her throat (she is _not_ a teenaged girl) and forces a smile. "I'm sorry you had to wait so long, but I appreciate it."

Killian shakes his head after a moment, blinking rapidly and running a hand through his hair. "It's not a problem." Oh, an accent, perfect. "I'm sure Mr. Swan just got caught up, aye?"

She snorts and Henry snickers into her shoulder. At the blank expression Killian tosses the both of them, she hastens to explain. "Oh, no. It's just us. Henry and I. I mean, there's Neal, but we're not - he's not - "

"My parents have never been married. I was an accident when they were stupid teenagers." Henry gives them both a wide grin before turning and heading towards the car, helmet tucked under his arm. "Thanks, Killian!"

There's an awkward silence as they watch Henry climb into the back of the yellow bug and she fidgets, painfully aware of how close he's standing.

"Thank you again." She whispers and he tilts his head to the side, ducking down slightly and peering up at her through his eyelashes. His grin is soft and bashful and the setting sun reflects off the windows of the school, casting them in a dim light that has her fingers itching to card through his hair - see if it's as soft as it look and _what the actual fuck is going on? _

_"_It was a pleasure, Ms. Swan." The way his lips wrap around the words makes her stomach do stupid things. He nods a bit and she takes a step backwards. "You have a remarkable boy."

Her car horn honks and he chuckles - a rough, warm sound that goes straight to her belly. Henry is half-leaning out the car, complaining about how hungry he is, and she is grateful for the distraction. She shoves her hands in her back pockets as she backs towards the car and then -

"Mom, can Killian come to Granny's with us?"

Color rises high in Killian's cheeks, rivaling the bright red and oranges that streak the sky with the setting sun. "No, no - I don't want to intrude - "

"Yeah." She cuts him off because _fuck it_. This man just sat with her son for two hours past the end of practice because his father got to pick him up, _again_, and she likes the way he smiles. The least she can do is buy him a greasy BLT. "Want to follow us down?"

He blinks, surprised no doubt, and then a slow smile curls the corner of his lips. He nods, taking half a step closer, and her breath catches in her throat.

"Looks like your son is more suited for offense." He murmurs and _god_ - no one should sound like that. She smirks and backs away from his warmth, turning on her heel and walking towards the car.

"See you in ten, Coach."

-/-

(His laugh is warm and rich as he steals fries off Henry's plate, his knee bumping with hers underneath the table and _okay_ - if she stares at him a little too long the next game, if she volunteers for the bake sale just to see what his mouth looks like with pink frosting in the corners, if she happens to kiss said frosting off his lips tucked behind the shed with her fingers in his hair, well then -

- she always did like offense.)


	2. Chapter 2

**quarterback sneak. **

She hasn't seen him in two weeks, not since the night she curled her hair and put on a pretty dress and he gave her flowers at her door, scratching behind his ear and blushing like an idiot while his eyes lingered on her bare legs. Henry had been grinning like the cat that got the freaking canary the whole time the two of them stood in the foyer of her loft, a smug smile turning the corner of his lips as she gave him pizza money and told him not to order any solicit movies on pay per view.

It was a perfect first date. His shirt matched his eyes and he asked her questions like he actually _cared_ - pulling out her chair at the table like some old world gentleman and _where_ did this guy even come from?

(London, apparently. Moved here with his brother when he was 17 and just so happened to fall into high school teaching - the coaching something he liked to do because it's nice to be a part of something.)

(She melted a bit into her pesto penne at the gentle sincerity in his voice, but that is neither here nor there.)

He kissed her under the streetlight on the corner, his fingers gentle as he toyed with an errant curl - the November breeze sweeping around them but doing nothing to cool the fiery heat in her cheeks. It was soft and gentle and perfect and when he pulled her closer with an arm around her waist, she went willingly - tilting her head and letting him deepen it with a whispered sigh.

(She could have sworn he still tasted like frosting, but perhaps that was muscle memory from the bake sale - his broken groan as she pressed him up against the garden shed behind the school still on loop in her mind.)

The sheer _panic_ hadn't settled in until she was tucked under the blankets in her bed - the note on the kitchen counter making her roll her eyes in amusement (_I'm wearing my headphones - you two crazy kids have fun_). Killian had left her at her door with a soft smile and an even softer kiss and while she had felt like she was floating - as soon as she was left alone she was in the fiery aftermath of a devastating crash.

Nothing good ever lasts.

She couldn't do it - not with her son's _coach_.

What was she even _thinking_?

It was (still is) surprisingly easy to avoid him. After a few ignored calls, he stopped trying - and she makes a valiant attempt _not_ to notice the way his shoulders slump when she refuses to get out of the car during parent practice pick-up.

Henry makes it all harder.

His glares over the breakfast table speak volumes, but she's evaded the topic successfully so far and honestly - this game is the first time since that night that she's really looked at Killian.

He looks tired.

And sad.

(Fuck.)

Her eyes drift over to him every few moments despite her best intentions to focus on the game, the mom to her immediate right shooting her a glare when she shakes her knee too much in nervous anxiety. She's so caught up in staring at the back of his neck - remembering the way his fingertips had grazed the apple of her cheek with gentle reverence, the way his eyes had darkened when she grazed her foot along his calf - that she almost doesn't notice the gasp that ripples it's way through the crowd.

Almost.

She cranes her head over the parents standing in front of her and her heart almost stops beating in her chest when her gaze lands on the back field.

Henry is flat on his back, and he isn't moving.

She's climbing down the bleachers before she's even really decided to move, pushing her way out the old chain link fence that separates the field from the stands. The kids on the field have already fallen to their knee and the school nurse is out there but Henry still isn't moving and oh _god_ -

He looks so small - in his pads and helmet - eyes shut as she begs him to wake up.

There are hands on her shoulders and she recognizes the warmth, but she can't breath - she_cannot _breathe.

An ambulance is called, the red and blue clashing terribly with the Friday night lights overhead.

She climbs into the back and holds his hand, pressing her lips to his skin over and over again.

There's a grass stain on his knee, and she bites her lip against a sob when she tries to remember if she got stain sticker at the store.

He groans and winces, and she swears she stops breathing again.

"Mom?"

She watches his cleats move, and _god_ -

She smiles through her tears. "Hey, kid."

She follows him into the hospital, legs like noodles as the emergency room staff meets him at the door. She waits in an empty room as they run tests and put him through machines, counting the cracks in the ceiling and trying not to fall apart. It feels like a lifetime later when they wheel him back in - his eyes bright and his hair messy - a hospital gown replacing his jersey and pads.

Her hands run over every inch of his face, cupping his cheeks and pressing her nose to his forehead. He groans but lets her do it because she's his mother, god damnit, and she almost_lost _him and -

"So did you talk to Killian while I was back there?"

She stops brushing his hair with shaky hands and pulls back to get a better look at him. "What?"

"Killian." Henry raises both eyebrows and adjusts himself in his little bed, wincing when he gets a look at his hospital gown. "Did you talk to him?"

"Why would I - "

"Oh god, are you kidding?" Henry drops his head back against the pillow and lets out another groan. "All of this for nothing." He murmurs to himself and she freezes, takes a step back.

"Henry."

He didn't.

He _wouldn't._

"I'm going to ask you a question and I need you to give me an honest answer, do you understand?" Her voice is shaking but she can't seem to control it right now because the idea that her son _faked_ a life threatening injury in order to get her to _talk _to a man - well - that is a whole new level of pathetic.

Even for her.

Henry nods a bit and scoots further back in his bed, like that will save him. _Good luck, buddy_. She takes a deep breath.

"Were you faking a concussion so I would talk to your coach?"

Henry shrugs, sheepish grin tilting the corners of his lips. "Maybe?"

"Maybe or yes?"

"Mom - "

The worry crystallizes into rage and she slams her fist down on the railing. Henry jumps, but she sees anger of his own reflected in those big brown eyes of his.

"And how exactly did you think that would happen, Henry? Did you think I would chat it up with him while my _son _was laying unconscious?"

"Silly me thinking you would thank the poor guy for following the ambulance to the hospital - an ambulance carrying the son of a woman who basically crushed his heart and turned him into some sad sack." He huffs and she blinks, trying to catch up. "He's here because he wants us, Mom. All of us, me and you, together. And he came not because he's trying to bang and leave - "

_Jesus_, she needed to set the parental controls on the tv.

" - but because he cares. So let him care. And go out with him again or next time I swear I'll get more dramatic."

The lingering silence is filled by the beating of her heart and the steady beep of the machines around them. Henry maintains eye contact and she is dismayed to discover a lot of her stubborn nature has been passed right on along to her son. She shakes her head, trying to process the whirlwind of information while quelling the aftershocks of panic.

_He is okay. He is okay. _

"You get more dramatic than this?" Is really all she can say.

Henry snorts. "Don't press me."

-/-

Killian is waiting outside in the lobby, just like Henry said he would be. His hands are in his hair and his shoulders are tense but as soon as she comes through the double doors, he straightens - hesitating only for a moment before striding over quickly.

He's holding a bowl of jello.

She falls just a bit harder.

His fingers twitch at his sides at it aches deep in her chest, the way he's unsure - the way she's _made_ him unsure.

"I know I have no right to be here - that you don't want to see me." His eyes look down and he scratches behind his ear and it's like a revelation. She inhales sharp through her nose because Henry was right, the little mastermind, and while she doesn't approve of his techniques ("Your insurance is stellar at the station, Mom, don't even give me the garbage about hospital bills.") she can't say she minds the results. She tunes back in to Killian's monologue just as he stammers out an apology, color rising high in his cheeks.

"I'm so sorry for everything. I didn't mean - I didn't mean to press you on our date and I don't want to make you uncomfortable. But I thought I should apologize, for encouraging Henry to play on defense. I can't help but feel this is my fault and - "

Her fingers curl into the collar of his football polo and she yanks him forward, cutting off the rest of his apology with her mouth on his. His entire body goes rigid when she nips at his bottom lip and she pulls back just as quick to find bewildered blue eyes looking down at her.

It's her turn for a sheepish smile, and she runs her thumb over the sharp line of his jaw.

"Henry was faking it." She explains, and one eyebrow arches high on his forehead in surprise. "He wanted me to talk to you, give you a chance."

Killian blinks and she watches the relief wash over him - followed closely by realization. He relaxes in her death grip and sways closer, ignoring the nurse staring at them with obvious disapproval from behind the check-in desk.

His fingers slide against the small of her back and it's a wonder she doesn't just melt into the ground, his eyes shining in the terrible fluorescents.

"Did it work?"

She nods and he kisses the smile from her lips.

(Henry is smug propped up in his bed, watching _Doomsday Preppers_ when they stroll in hand-in-hand, gratefully taking the jello from Killian.)

(The doctor is bewildered to find nothing wrong.)

(Henry's grin doubles.)


	3. Chapter 3

_Killian has to chaperone the high school Christmas dance, and he asks Emma if she will accompany him._

**double coverage.**

He bought her a corsage.

She fingers the holly berries tucked neatly against a single red rose as they drive to the school, Christmas music playing lightly on the car radio, fighting back a smile and the burning in her eyes because she went to prom – she did the high school dance thing – but she was six months pregnant and Neal had been late and _drunk _and this is –

– this is nice.

_He _is nice.

(And funny and charming and kind of dirty-minded, now that she thinks about it, but she likes it – likes every piece of him and sometimes she thinks she might even love him and it should scare her more than this, right? It should be scary.)

(But it's not.)

"Are you sure Henry is okay with my bringing you?" He glances over at her from the corner of his eye as they turn into the school parking lot, passing crowds of teenagers running back and forth in poorly made formal wear. He scowls, and she laughs. "I don't want him to – "

"Be embarrassed by his lame mom at a school dance?" Killian shrugs like he can't quite argue with her and she flicks him in the shoulder. "I caught him sneaking out a blanket and some snacks in a backpack, so I sincerely doubt my dear son will even make it to the dance."

The car jerks to a stop as he puts it in park (the man and his vintage vehicles, honestly) and he shifts in his seat, letting the engine run and the music linger in the little bubble around them as he reaches for the end of her hair. He loops a strand lightly around his fingers and tugs, smiling when she leans forward and meets his lips.

He tastes like the hot chocolate she made him while she was getting ready – sweetness and spice and everything nice.

(She definitely loves him.)

"Well then I owe him great thanks."

Her grin spreads a bit wider, even if he talks like he's from another freaking century.

-/-

She's right about Henry. He doesn't show at the dance and she smirks a bit to herself because the kid is too much like her for her own damned good. But he is smart and kind and she doesn't worry (much) about what sort of adventures he is up to with the pretty red head he was supposed to take to this thing.

(The text message '_Lily and I decided to bail and hit up the wharfs for some debauchery – just kidding, maybe. Have a good time tonight and don't get Killian fired from his job.' _quickly followed by _'I'll be safe, I promise. I love you, mom.' _certainly helped ease the ache in her breast bone when she saw him clatter down the stairs in a hoodie instead of his dress shirt, backpack over his shoulder.)

She, however, is scarred for life by the things she's seen from the general high school population. She's sure it wasn't like this when she was in high school – the way they grind their bodies up against one another in some weird sort of tribal sacrifice dance. But then again, she got pregnant in high school, so maybe it's not so different.

"And you teach these kids?"

Killian's face pinches together as he scans the crowded gym, the reds from the mood lighting above casting his face half in shadow. He sips at the punch cup in his hand and slides a bit closer to her side, arm wrapping around her shoulders when a pack of boys stray too close, their beady little eyes lingering on the hem of her dress line.

"Aye, and I do think this is the last time I volunteer for a school dance." He finishes his drink and places it on the snack table they are supposed to be monitoring. "Would you like to get a breath of fresh air?"

She's come to learn that when his eyebrow arches high on his forehead, she will definitely like the results of whatever he is thinking.

Plus, the music (if she hears _Fireball_ one more time, she might explode) is starting to give her a headache.

"Hell yes."

-/-

Apparently fresh air means his classroom, because she finds herself leaning on his desk ten minutes later, his door carefully clicked shut. She hears him flick the lock and she _definitely_likes whatever was going on in that brilliant mind of is, tilting her head as he slowly walks over to her, letting her eyes linger on the way he looks in a white, fitted button down and red tie.

(His hair is still a mess, chaotic like he's just rolled out of bed – like her fingers have spent the evening running through it or gripping on to it for dear life.)

"Your tie matches my dress." She says quietly, liking the way the darkness and shadow wrap around them. Everything feels still and peaceful, and the way he's gazing at her is doing weird (amazing) things to her stomach.

He rubs his thumb along the collar of her dress, her breath hitching when he grazes the skin at the tops of her breasts.

"Hmm, so it does." He shifts a bit closer to her, forcing her back further against the desk until she's leaning her full body weight on to it. There's a sign over his shoulder that reads '_T.E.A.M.W.O.R.K, The ability to work together toward a common vision'_ and she's never been more on board in her life.

"Did you know, Swan," his hand grips at her hip as his nose bumps against hers. "That you are supposed to kiss beneath the mistletoe?"

She tilts her head back to look at the ceiling, and sure enough, there hanging neatly from the ceiling tiles that have seen better days, is a small bundle of mistletoe with holly berries that suspiciously match the ones around her wrist.

"Well," She licks her lips and grins at the sound he makes. "I sure hope this was all prearranged and you haven't had mistletoe hanging over your desk all week, because that sounds like a felony waiting to happen and I've _seen_ the way those girls look at you and some of the – "

He cuts her off with his mouth on hers, stealing her breath and pulling her closer. She closes her eyes and falls into him, gripping his face between her palms and letting him guide the pace, a moan catching in her throat when he lifts up on her hips and slides her back on his desk, pens and pencils and a stack of papers crashing to the floor.

"This some sort of weird fantasy of yours?" His mouth is under her ear and he is definitely showing signs of _'P.E.R.S.E.R.V.E.R.A.N.C.E, Seeing a job through' _when his teeth nip at her earring, tugging lightly.

"Would you rather go back to the auditorium, love?"

She snickers and grips his hair between her fingers, messing it up further and guiding his mouth to hers.

"No." She replies simply, and his smile tastes delicious on her lips. She loses track of time as he kisses her senseless, her leg wrapping around the back of his knee and pulling him flush against her. They keep it slow and steady and neither make a move to take it further regardless of the way heat is coiling low in her belly and how she can feel the way he wants her pressed against the inside of her thigh. She is mindful of the fact that this is a school, his workplace, her _son's_ school – and getting caught doing the dirty on his desk would probably not be kosher.

(There is a perfectly comfortable bed with soft flannel sheets at his house that she intends on reacquainting herself with later.)

She thumbs at the scar on his cheek when he pulls away, resting her forehead against his and exhaling a shaky breath. The way he makes her feel is something she's still not quite used to, and she hopes she never is.

"Emma, I think – " He swallows hard and her heart beats faster in her chest because she can feel the significance in the air, a heavy sort of giddy feeling that shakes at her bones. "No, in fact I'm certain that I – "

"I love you." She cuts him off and it's such a relief to finally say it – that bursting feeling that's been tugging at her ever since she woke up and he was standing in the kitchen humming under his breath while Henry rattled on about Lily and he had been making _pancakes_ for god's sake – pressing a kiss to her head while passing her a plate and she – she loves him. "I love you a lot."

His hand cups her face, fingers trailing over her cheekbone. "Emma, I love you so – "

"Wait, did you say you volunteered to chaperone?" He blinks at her blankly, mouth setting into a line of consternation at her complete destruction of his declaration. "I thought you said you had to do this."

He scratches behind his ear and shuffles back and forth between her legs. "Well, you've told me of your high school experience, and it may seem a bit silly, but I just thought it would be nice if you attended a proper dance." A smirk curls his lips. "Complete with sneak away snogging."

The warmth in her chest spreads – the burning behind her eyes back. She crushes him to her with her fingers wrapped around that stupid tie and if she thought his smile tasted good, it's nothing compared to his laugh.

"I love you." She sighs and he steps back, helping her down from the desk and stepping over the school supply carnage. He presses a kiss to her hand and guides her to the door, that damned eyebrow telling her he has some things in mind, and she's inclined to believe she will enjoy them.

"I love you as well, you bloody stubborn woman."

-/-

(He remembers halfway down the hallway that he left the mistletoe hanging up, and he jogs back to the room to take it down before Monday morning classes. She snickers all the way home until he promptly shuts her up.)

(She was right about the eyebrow.)


End file.
